


Metathesis

by Satan In Purple (purple_satan)



Category: Jupiter Ascending (2015), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: A Drunk Hux is a Sassy Hux, Armchair Hux, Ashesgate Ref, Crack Pairing Treated Somewhat Seriously, Crossover, Eventual kylux, How to Make Space Trash Trashier, I Honestly Can’t tell if I’m Trying to Play This Straight or It’s Crack, I Would Tell ANYTHING to Kanjiklub for Alania, M/M, Mistaken Recurrences, Please No One Actually Ship This It’s Bad, Space Power Couple Kylem, Unsanitary Sexual Situations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 11:20:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10017653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_satan/pseuds/Satan%20In%20Purple
Summary: metathesis [n.]  1. the transposition of sounds or letters in a word. 2. a reaction in which two compounds exchange ions, typically with precipitation of an insoluble product. Also called double decomposition.General Hux and Kylo Ren receive a request from House Abrasax to discuss various things, among them including: money, scavengers, and the ramifications of destroying Abrasax property aka. The Hosnian System.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alania](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alania/gifts).



> Happy Birthday Lili! LONG LIVE OUR SUPER DELUXE SPACETRASH RARE CROSSOVER SHIP!!!!
> 
> Please handwave any inconsistencies away, I'm just trying my best for a friend. I truly think these two are a plausible crossover.

* * *

 

Kylo Ren counts the moments backwards, meditating and feeling the shuttle nearing its destination, as Hux types. The red-haired general across from him is uncharacteristically silent, typing with a steady, plodding determination to finish before they arrive at their destination. They're quickly approaching the refinery docking bay of Yavin Prime and the alcazar belonging to Balem Abrasax, First Primary of House Abrasax, and neither of them entirely know what is in store for them once they arrive.

Kylo watches the glowing Aurebesh letters fill the datapad screen as Hux continues to type. It’s in these quiet, distracted moments he feels as though he can really observe General Hux and appreciate his dedication to their united cause.

“I don’t need the Force to feel you staring at me, Ren,” Hux drawls after some moments pass, not even looking up from his work.

“You’re exhausted,” he counters, not looking away. He can see the dark circles under Hux's eyes like bruises, the man overworking himself as usual.

“As touching as your obviously misplaced concern is, I’d rather you worry about yourself,” Hux replies snappishly, finally looking up from the datapad in his lap. “You’re a walking diplomatic incident. Even the Supreme Leader can't protect you if you kill an Entitled; we’re barely being protected under Admiralty Law for the destruction of Hosnia as it is.”

Glowering from behind his mask, Kylo rests his elbows on his knees in the cramped space, feet nearly touching Hux’s own in the confined area of the shuttle. Hux sighs, returning his gaze back down and redoubles his typing efforts.

“If you could _try_ not to have this become a fiasco with your unique brand of theatrics, I daresay I’d actually be grateful for requesting your company.”

“I’m not—” Kylo snarls out, but the look on Hux’s face stays impassive as ever.

Hux quirks a pale eyebrow at him, eyes still cold as chips of ice.

“You _are,_ Ren,” he spits. “You’re a rabid dog on a leash Snoke holds. Right now he’s having me hold the leash. You _will behave_.”

Kylo’s hand twitches on the pommel of his lightsaber. He clenches his fist, releases. The gesture does not go unnoticed. The statement isn’t entirely true, but it's close enough to reality it’s grating. Insulting. he knew Supreme Leader Snoke had been ambivalent on the matter of Hux monopolizing him for this trip, but had eventually acquiesced for reasons unknown. Because despite his cajoling, Hux had been very adamant on Kylo accompanying his convoy to meet the Abrasax siblings.

“My presence here is unnecessary, general.”

“I disagree. The First Order has many reasons to extend a welcoming hand to House Abrasax. As for specifically your aims, they believe the scavenger you are looking for also to be of some importance to them and are willing to assist in her recovery,” Hux reminds him, shutting the datapad off and stowing it in his attaché bag. “Hopefully that's enough incentive for now. Or did you _not_ read the report I sent you?”

He gives a small shrug. Hux narrows his eyes.

Opening his mouth, Hux's lips move but he purses them as the shuttle begins touchdown sequence. With a grimace, his pale eyes flutter closed as they meets minor turbulence, fingers flexing minutely in his lap. He ends up being silent the remaining duration of the trip and Kylo is grateful to not hear him speak on the matter further.

Still as twin statues, they wait to exit the shuttle.

 

* * *

 

If one good thing could be said of of the planet they are on, its the sky. Yavin Prime is a swirling mass of red and gold clouds, possibly the only thing warm and inviting about the otherwise uninteresting planet. Kylo does not stop to wonder why Balem Abrasax chose Yavin when its satellites have gained much more notoriety in history for their habitable ecosystems, because its of little relevance to know the answer to the eccentricities of the rich.

The approaching Abrasax Alcazar is a terrible looking, cobbled-together thing of machinery and function more than elegance. Masses of serrated skyscrapers score the sky like dragon’s teeth, jutting up into an otherwise desolate and gaseous landscape. Rows upon rows of buildings shine dully in the murky light that filters through to the planet’s core.

Neither he nor Hux are particularly impressed, all things considering the wealth of the Abrasax fortune.

Upon landing they immediately encounter a retinue of chazrachs waiting to escort them to the main entrance of the great building. Each carry a high-powered laser rifle and stare at the now relatively unguarded pair, their pilots at attention behind them.

_Not for their protection, then._

Kylo chuckles, a snapping and distorted noise once it passes through his helmet vocoder and Hux’s eyes briefly meet his mask before he folds his hands behind his back and stalks off.

The chazrachs don't move a muscle, only finally break ranks when a nebbish looking rat splice appears behind them, barking orders. Hux tugs on the edge of his formal wear —arms actually in the sleeves of his greatcoat for a change— the look on his face one of discomfort as Chicanery Night introduces himself and they approach the complex of the refinery.

Kylo makes a low sweep of the general’s mind mostly for his own amusement, but gains nothing save a dirty look in response as they continue their trek along the catwalks to the main entrance. Perhaps Hux is as xenophobic as some propaganda makes him out to be. Or maybe it's just splices in particular that set him on edge.

Finally out of earshot of Night, Hux whispers low enough only Kylo can hear it.  

“Familiar with what splices are, Ren?”

He nods his helmet. As much abhorrent to many as clones and far more exotic, splices were engineered first far beyond the Outer Rim for both battle and to serve specific purposes. Rim planets diverged and developed droids to serve similar functions, most species finding the practice of creating splices distasteful and debasing.

“Then you’ll not need to poke around in my mind to know why they disgust me,” Hux replies. “Barbaric practice.”

 

He doesn’t elaborate further.

They fall in step, approaching the giant metal doors of the alcazar emblemized with the Abrasax family logo. Were Kylo a lesser man it might feel like both he and Hux were walking to their doom.

 

* * *

 

After dismissing their pilots to their quarters and breaking into two groups, Kylo and Hux are met by the eldest of the Abrasax siblings in his expansive boardroom. The path to him is a measure of walking down many marble corridors with vaulted ceilings and dark tapestries, but it's not bad. Abrasax tastes in furnishings are not as gaudy as some.

For all Kylo has heard about the Abrasax legacy— the only legacy perhaps even more well known than his own Skywalker heritage— all the rumors about Seraphi and her children, about RegeneX, he does not expect the softness in which Lord Balem Abrasax greets and regards his new guests. Acknowledging them with a wave of his bejewled hand, he stands from the settee on the dias in front of them. Half-clothed in what appears to be high Nabooian fashion, his asymmetrically cut robes cover his shoulders down past the tips of his fingers, leaving his toned chest open and on display. Covering his throat is an intricately worked high collar of gold dotted with ruby insets. His pants are a material that shines like gossamer in the artificial lighting of the palatial room they are gathered, layers of gold that look like they could be flaked apart with the flat of a fingernail.

Feet bare, he pads around the pair, assessing them. Eyes glittering, the smile on his plush lips is razor sharp. Only the nervous twitch of Hux’s jaw betrays the masking of his discomfort at the display in front of him.

“I am honored that the First Order brings such esteemed envoys,” Lord Balem Abrasax drawls, voice a hoarse whisper barely wafting to his guests as he stands in front of them. “Both a general of the First Order _and_ his Knight. Quite a pair.”

His eyes reach Kylo’s mask appraisingly. “Forgive me if I am not familiar with the particulars of how to address your station, Knight Ren.”

Hux turns his head fractionally to Kylo, then back to Abrasax.

“Was your travel well?” He asks conversationally, politely folding his hands together.

“Quite, My Lord,” Hux replies, hands still clasped behind his back.

“Regrettably, we've a change of plans. We must attend to business tomorrow since my siblings still have yet to arrive,” he announces, still eying Kylo’s mask. “Our guests are tired. Mister Night, show them to their quarters.”

“Lord Abrasax—” Hux begins, but is cut off by a wave of a bejeweled hand.

“Tomorrow,” he rasps, as he turns on his heel to gaze at the refinery machinery through floor to ceiling clari-crystalline windows, or perhaps to ignore any further conversation.

 

* * *

 

Their escort, Chicanery Night, is a nervous thing.

His eyes dart between Kylo and Hux, as though he has been cornered between two very large, hungry predators both ready to rip him to shreds. He leads them back down the large marble hallways where they split off with their pilots. It’s a few corners before he finally stops at a hallway with multiple doors, indicating any of the rooms are available to choose as their quarters.

Hux chooses the nearest door, Kylo opting for the one across the hall from it. Night nods quickly then briefs them regarding the meal itinerary, making sure to not linger. He leaves them with a wan smile and a quick bow.

Kylo takes off his helmet before entering his room, shaking out his hair. Looking over his shoulder he find Hux staring at him from across the hall, their eyes meeting briefly.

The moment is broken when Hux takes a step back and the sensor kicks in, opening the doors to his room with a hiss and he turns on his heel and enters his room quickly. Kylo is left holding his battered helmet in front of his door, only the sounds of Mr. Night’s retreating footsteps and the muffled noises of the refinery around him. He reaches out a tendril to try and contact Snoke, to update him on their status, but feels no reply. Forgoing whatever dinner is served for the night, he enters his room and strips down immediately, tossing his belongings on the specious bed. Down to just his pants and undershirt and not much else to do, he decides on meditating the rest of the night, feeling the dark side of the force gather around him, strengthening him.

Losing track of time, he meditates through the night until he hears a sharp, measured rapping at his door that could only belong to someone as stuffy, anal-retentive and uptight as—

Standing outside the door is Hux, the only hints belying his usual stiff demeanor his collar open at the neck and hair looking as though he’s ran his fingers through it several times in frustration.

_“General."_

_“Ren.”_

They both stand in awkward silence as Hux clears his throat.

“Negotiations have been postponed to the following day. Lord Titus Abrasax is apparently otherwise occupied tomorrow.”

Kylo nods his head but does not move to let Hux in.

“That’s all,” he adds stiffly. “Good night.”

 

* * *

 

_That night he dreams of the ground beneath him cracking and swallowing him whole, of red hair and pale eyes blurred from the other side of a bacta tank. He dreams of the scavenger with his grandfather’s lightsaber in her hand, the blue glow of the blade illuminating her features, as they circle each other like prey in the falling snow. The hiss and snap of their blades as they connected, plasma spitting onto the snow and melting it, to only reform as ice again in the cold._

_He dreams of darkness, of searing agony. Someone barking orders, voice like thunder claps in the sky above him as he tries to hold on to something but his grip keeps slipping, fingers grasping and only finding empty handfuls of air. Lungs still breathing but heavy, as though he’s underwater. He can't feel the Force and the weight on him is crushing his chest. He's floating in the darkness, suffocating, suffocating—_

Kylo wakes up covered in a cold sheen of sweat, angry. The lights to his room flicker on as his vision adjusts and he steadies his breathing.

_Guest Suite, Left Wing. Abrasax Alcazar, Yavin Prime. Three months, one week, four days._

Not even bothering to toss on his boots, he opens the door to his room and pads across the hallway. His knuckles barely hit the metal before he hears the faint _come in_ from inside the room.

As the doors hiss open he finds Hux in the main room, still awake and sitting in one of the overstuffed chairs matching the ones in his own. The dark circles under his eyes are even more prominent in the sickly lighting, his pallor only more amplified by the light of the datapad he’s reading. A cigarra dangles from his other hand carelessly.

This time Hux looks up.

_“Ren.”_

_“Hux.”_

Taking a sip of aquamarine colored liquid from the glass on the table beside him, Hux arches an eyebrow at him before setting the datapad on the table and taking a long drag off the cigarra. “You didn’t seem in the mood for company earlier.”

“I was meditating.”

“Force nonsense,” he replies, shaking his head. “Wish I had the luxury of meditation.”

“You don’t need the Force to meditate. Why are you still awake?”

“I have a hard time sleeping planetside. I miss my ship.”

The silence stretches thin between them, as tightly wound as the innards to an antique chrono and Kylo finally sits down on his bed, taking a swig from the bottle of whatever Hux is drinking. He tamps down a shudder at the unfamiliar spicy burn of exotic spirits.

Hux only looks mildly affronted at his rudeness, before taking the bottle back and pouring more into his glass then handing the bottle back to Kylo.

“Do you still dream about it?” He asks.

Hux swallows a measure of light-blue liquid before looking over, a small grin playing on his lips. “Of course. It was my finest achievement for the Order. Years of work. Remember hunting down all those bloody kyber crystals?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Kylo replies, stretching himself out on Hux’s bed. Propping himself up on one elbow, he’s still able to look at the redhead and drink whatever it is they’re drinking. AbraX? He’s never heard of the name of it. "When it collapsed."

“Do you?”

“The memories are— _inadequate._ Some haven’t entirely returned.”

“You did spend cycles in a bacta tank after,” Hux replies, taking another long drag off the cigarra. His eyes follow the angry looking scar bisecting his face, winding down to his shoulder. His lip curls in distaste. “Though it looks, like your memories, not everything healed properly.”

“They’re just scars,” Kylo replies. “Could have lost a hand. Seems to be a family tradition.”

“Best not to follow in their footsteps on that one.”

“You rescued me.”

“So I did,” Hux sighs, taking another sip of his drink. “Do not dare begin thanking me now.”

“Never,” Kylo replies with a short, bitter laugh. Running his finger along the lip of the bottle he thinks about the day’s events, a question coalescing in his mind.

“Balem doesn't acknowledge you. Old grudge?”

“You could say. I'm a bastard of low birthright who rose to power quickly. It’s something not relevant in the First Order, but important to galactic nobility. Also Lord Balem no doubt holds me personally accountable for giving the signal fire on Hosnia.”

“You were following Supreme Leader’s orders.”

“So I was,” he nods in agreement. “But I didn’t believe in the necessity of destroying the other planets and followed anyway. Those planets belonged to House Abrasax — _to him_ — and we were gambling them noticing they were gone for many years.No Entitled intervened when Alderaan was blown up. We were hoping for the same scenario.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No,” Hux replies too quickly, looking into the bottom of his crystal tumbler and swirling it. “Do you regret slaughtering the children —peers, _your friends_ — Skywalker was training?”

“I was following Supreme Leader’s orders.”

 _“Touché,"_  Hux replies, taking the last drag off his cigarra and blowing rings of smoke that dissipate into the air between them. Stubbing out the remains in an empty tumbler. He takes a long look at Kylo, head tilted to the side almost comically. 

“Ren— _Kylo._ I know you’ve inquired about my well-being, but are you—” he trails off. He motions with his free hand.

“I’m fine, Hux.”

“Very well,” he sighs, finishing his drink and reclining back in his chair. “What a queer conversation we’ve had. You’re almost downright pleasant to talk to when we’re not sniping at each other.”

“I could say the same.”

“Also I am very, _very_ drunk. That might be why. I don’t think this is regular brandy.”

“It’s not,” Kylo replies with a smug grin, holding up the near empty bottle of AbraX. “How very unfitting for a general the night before negotiations to indulge in.”

_“Fuck you, Kylo.”_

“Is that an invitation?”

Hux opens his legs fractionally wider and grins, but then falls right back into the chair.

“No, that is not an invitation,” he finally replies, covering his eyes with one hand dramatically. “Your eagerness is noted for future blackmail, however.”

He’s about to reply, but Hux is already slumped in his armchair, snoring softly. His hand already having fallen back down to his side, the other now loosely gripping the crystal tumbler. It falls out of his hand with a dull thud, rolling on the floor underneath his chair.

With his eyes closed, the near-translucent lashes fanned across the dark smudges under his eyes, Hux looks peaceful. Younger. The bridge of his nose has a smattering of light freckles Kylo never noticed and there's a small scar under his eye he wonders how Hux got and why it was allowed to scar, considering the man's vanity towards them. He spends a few more moments watching the rise and fall of his chest, as more copper-colored hair falls into his face from where it was. Notices how pink his lips are and the flush on his cheeks from alcohol that mimics exertion, before quietly retreating back to his own quarters.

For both their sakes, he tries not to think about how attractive his co-commander is and fails spectacularly.

_Fuck._

**Author's Note:**

> Am I actually sorry for this fic though? _Naaaaaaaaaaaaaah._
> 
> For more Quality™ Trashlord nonsense, follow me on tumblr @ [purple-satan-fic](http://purple-satan-fic.tumblr.com/)!


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